


sore throat

by daedalia



Category: OFF (Game)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-10
Updated: 2013-06-10
Packaged: 2017-12-14 12:35:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/836931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daedalia/pseuds/daedalia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>where the player is mute and the batter doesn't know a lick of sign language</p>
            </blockquote>





	sore throat

**Author's Note:**

> from the kink meme; i finally summed up enough courage to use my account on here ahaha hover over french for translation!
> 
> also. i don't know french. so if it's wrong please let me know and i just realized they're using american sign language bury me in insecurities when i die (i haven't written in three years shhhhhh)

When they first meet it is a happy moment, if the smile on his Player’s face is anything to go by. They look elated to finally be able to stand next to the one they’ve been guiding, and immediately give him a hug, as one-sided as it may be. By the time they pull away, he can hear some specters getting too close for comfort (at least, for the moment) and ushers his Player away so they can converse somewhere safer.

“Lead the way, mon joueur. I do not wish to be ambushed just yet.” They smile again and nod, moving forward through the mines. He wants to finish purifying in the mines so they aren’t in danger, but the mines seem endless and there are so many chests and his Player wants to talk to every Elsen they meet and they are _still_ ambushed by specters and yes, his Player hadn’t gotten hurt and he’s sure they could hold their own if need be and they still have control over his battles so he knows he’s in good hands but even so it gives him an awful feeling in his gut if something were to happen. He tries bringing it up, maybe there isn’t a way around the blocks, maybe they should go up the ladder but his Player waves it off with their hand and moves on.

Eventually it becomes obvious that there really isn’t much left in the mines, and he has been growing restless for the past hour. His Player has been standing still for a while now, looking through the objects they have. He taps them on the shoulder and they jump in surprise, but they still haven’t said anything to him and he is absolutely not offended, just…confused. And maybe hurt.

“Alpha has been getting claustrophobic. Perhaps a break would be wise.” The add-on is glowing brightly from the end of his bat, and almost blinks in response. The Player does the same, nods again, and begins to climb the ladder with the Batter just behind. 

The light rain that greets them is ridiculously refreshing from the stale air of the mines. He still wants to purify the mines, but those damn obstacles keep getting in the way. An Elsen comes up to them, all raspy breaths and nervous chattering and full of awe, and the entire time he talks he fidgets because he doesn’t want to listen to them he just wants to stretch his legs – 

Oh. He finished. No, he wants help, something about those barns and his Player is giving him a pleading look that says “say yes, please say yes” and he almost doesn’t say yes because he wants them to actually say it, but he agrees to help anyway. 

* * *

There is nothing spectacular about the barns; they are big, there are cows, and there are rocks. And there are specters. But there are specters all the time now, and when he asks how many are in the barn, his Player holds up all five fingers. He is a little frustrated, but he doesn’t show it, and he is as wordless as the Player as he begins to take them out. 

It’s when he’s purified three specters and they make their way up the stairs that he realizes that “they” is actually just him. He turns around, but his Player his nowhere to be seen, and yet he can still feel the strings tugging at him from the first floor. A chill runs down his spine when he hears the screeching of a ghost and he runs back down and through the rooms and find his Player backed up against a wall with a Luck ticket clutched in their hand and the specter advancing towards them. He rushes forward and pushes the damned thing back with his bat, making quick work of the ghost. When it’s all over, he looks at the Player and finally snaps.

“Quoi pensiez-vous? Vous auriez pu être tué, you should have said something! Would it have been worth it,” he snatches the Luck ticket from them and waves it back and forth, “for an insignificant token? Do you want to die here, imbécile?” 

Their head is bowed and their fists are clenched tight and he thinks for a moment that maybe he went too far (he forgets how fragile some people are), but when they look up at him they are _angry_ and by no means on the verge of tears. The Player grabs his bat from him and storms away back up the stairs and he follows, watching as they push rocks back and forth to get to the last specter and he watches as they obliterate the thing with no hesitation. They’re panting from the exertion, but still don’t look at him and teleport back to the barn entrance. He waits a few minutes, just to give them some time alone before he catches up to them.

He finds them hunched over by a wall on the ground with their head buried in their arms and his bat propped up next to them. Alpha is hovering over them patiently and disappears when he comes close, but his Player doesn’t acknowledge him. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, unsure if he should do something or not. Slowly, he crouches down in front of them and rests a hand on their shoulder; they look up at him, but he keeps his head ducked.

“Just be careful, yes?” He tries for a smile and it must work because his Player pats his cheek affectionately and their mood brightens. 

* * *

They go back in the mines. Just looking at the Elsen with their arms covered in blood and buried deep inside half of a cow is unsettling, and it turns out that the obstacles have been removed. It seems as if it’ll just be more chests and specters, but they end up in a new corridor that is actually lit and that is how the two of them meet Zacharie.

The Player is clinging onto his arm, having just had a close call with a January that grabbed at their leg and yanked them back. The only reason he knew they were being ambushed was because Alpha suddenly flew back to aid them; his Player didn’t say anything again, and it was bothering him immensely. Did something go wrong? Maybe when they came into his world not all of them made it…

Zacharie is laughing again. “My friend, are you that oblivious? The answer is really quite clear – ah, lower your bat, I meant no harm.” He gestures towards the Player. “Our Puppeteer is mute. Pas de voix.”

What. He looks down at them, and they are thrilled, ecstatic that someone figured it out. They let go of his arm and begin making nonsensical gestures with their hands, but Zacharie shakes his head and stops them.

“My apologies, but I’m afraid I do not know sign language. As it is, I am the merchant for this game with wares I am sure you will find interest in. So, lemme see the color of your credits, mon ami muet.” 

The Batter steps forward and is about to ask for some more meat and tickets, but his Player stops him. They point to themselves, then to Zacharie, and to the last Luck ticket in their possession. He seems to get it, and pulls out a thick wad of them; the Player hold up five fingers, Zacharie tells them how much it costs, and they pay him. They want something else, but they keep making strange shapes in the air with their fingers. Zacharie cocks his head to the side, and the Batter can almost imagine him smiling in amusement.

After a while, they throw their hands up and march over to the Batter and fist his worn out shirt, shaking the fabric around. Zacharie laughs again, and pulls out a tunic for him. The little prick probably knew exactly what they wanted, but they go on their way anyway, leaving the mines behind once more.

* * *

Sachihata is incredibly dull. He has no desire to speak with any of the Elsen even if he has no choice, and they all give him the same response. They travel to many floors, end up on ones they don’t want, but it’s all the same: numbers and numbers and numbers. The monotonic humdrum of the Elsen makes everything mesh together and he has trouble remembering if anything important happened.

On a whim, they decide to go to the roof; it turns out to be a damn blessing. The Judge is a welcome distraction from the buzzing in his head, even if his long sentences make his head swim. The cat smiles and nods to the Batter, then walks up to his Player.

“And who might you be? I have not had the pleasure of meeting you before, yet you accompany our protagonist as faithfully as his strange floating consort.” They smile apologetically when the Batter steps forward, much to the Judge’s surprise (though he hardly shows it, crazy feline).

“This is the Puppeteer. They have no voice, but their actions make up for their lack of one.” The Judge’s grin widens as he rubs himself against the Player’s legs.

“A pleasure, my dear. I am sure you are in good hands – oh, my, it seems I am the one in good hands.” He closes his eyes and begins to purr loudly as the Player scratches under his chin. His tail flicks back and forth in contentment, and the Player covers their mouth with their other hand, shoulders shaking up and down in silent laughter.

* * *

The constant splashing at the meat fountains is the most noise the Batter has heard in a while. Elsen and specters are generally quiet, unless they attack; he mostly has the sound of his footsteps and his Players breaths to keep him company. They have their own way of conversing with him, though: a slap to his arm, scribbling some words here and there on the walls with a pen they found in Sachihata, the occasional slap to their own forehead when they mess up on a puzzle. When they get irritated, they’ll cross their arms and shift most of their weight to one side, or when they’re happy they walk around with a bounce in their steps. If he pays attention, he can understand what they’re feeling, for the most part. 

It’s when they actually want to tell him something that he has no words for them. They’ll point to him, then his bat, and then back to themselves, and all he can think is that they want him to beat them up. A slap to the forehead. They’ll gesture wildly to the monorail station and wiggle their fingers down in front of them, and he says, “I know it is raining here.” He got a punch in the chest for that. Their movements are quick and their hands are shoved in their pockets by the time they walk up to Zacharie, but he doesn’t know what to say to make the situation any better. 

Apparently Zacharie knows, because as soon as they stop in front of him, he makes a few quick gestures with his hands, and the Player brightens immediately. The two of them wave their hands around for a few minutes until the Batter finally cuts in.

“Are the two of you talking?” Zacharie chuckles at that, and it really doesn’t help.

“I may or may not have broken a few rules and found some files on sign language. For the sake of our story, it should be beneficial to us all.” It is so easy to imagine him smirking behind that damn mask. “At least, most of us will benefit from my excursions.”

He turns back to the Player and they sign for a very long time, looking exasperated as they do so.

“What did they say?”

“Oh, they’re just telling me about your adventures so far. That’s it.”

“They were talking for a while.”

“Yes, they were. Quite observant, dear Batter.”

They leave soon after, with their pockets emptied of credits once more and a scowl on the Batter’s face. But before they even get ten feet away, Zacharie calls out.

“If you would like, I could sell you a book to teach you sign language.” He almost tells the merchant off, but if he could actually converse with his Player, it would make things much easier. 

“How much?”

“Cent mille credits.”

“Goodbye, Zacharie.”

He almost wishes he had enough credits by the time they finish the puzzles at the meat fountains. The Player refused to ride in the pedalo with him, so they stood on the platform while he went around hitting blocks. Only, he had to go from the blocks to his Player and back again, and they messed up the order several times before they finally succeeded, but not without several attacks from the beasts lurking in the pools of meat.

If he had to see one more Troquantary...

* * *

Fighting Dedan just plain sucks.

Alpha got hit with his Hour Hand and the Batter is dangerously low on health. His body is covered in scratches and bruises and one of his wounds won’t stop bleeding so he feels light-headed and woozy and Dedan won’t stop _laughing_ and it makes him so mad that he ends up missing attacks and he isn’t dodging anything because he’s so damn furious — 

He feels hands grabbing at his shoulders and tugging him back into a corner while Dedan glares at him from the other side, as if they were in a boxing match. It’s a wonder the guardian doesn’t attack him right then and there, but he noticed the way he wouldn’t get too close when his Player was right beside him. He doubts that he would stay that way for much longer, so he bounces on his heels to keep his head up and wipes some blood away from his mouth.

“I can’t tell for sure, but I think he’s almost done.” His Player waves their hands in front of his face. “What?”

They point at his pockets in exasperation. He pulls out some meat and holds it out, but it’s all bloody and he can’t tell which one does what. “Which one? The gross one or the equally gross one?”

He can tell they really don’t want to touch the stuff, and he doesn’t blame them because some of the objects are disgusting, but he uses them since they help, and that’s more than enough for him. The Player peeks over his shoulder and jumps up in surprise; he follows their line of sight and his blood goes cold when he sees Dedan about to charge back at him. He turns back to his Player quickly. “Which one, which one, which one? We’ve got to hurry, he’s about to—”

They snatch a strip of meat, ignoring the blood that drips down their arms, and throw it at Alpha. The Add-on absorbs it and wakes up, moving in front of the Batter to hold off Dedan. His Player then reaches into his back pocket and grabs a luck ticket, frantically prying his mouth open and throwing the paper inside. As it dissolves and he feels his wounds healing themselves, they turn him around and shove him towards Dedan just as the guardian prepares for another attack.

When the battle is done, he gives his Player a lopsided grin in thanks. They smile back shyly and wave their hand in front of them, and they make their way to Zone 2.

* * *

The roller coaster is the only part he likes about Zone 2.

He wasn’t sure what to expect from it, but he likes it. His Player wanted to ride it, he could tell that much just by the way their eyes widened at the sight of it. And he had to admit that it was fun, but he doesn’t mind the coaster so much as the reaction the Player had to it.

They would _laugh_ , breathless and silent and it is so very strange to hear no noise when they clutch their sides and double over and shake from laughing so much, but they are genuinely happy and he indulges them countless times until the Elsen at the exit no longer pays attention to their antics. The two of them stumble out from the train, take a few minutes to regain their bearings, and then the Player grabs his wrist and all but drags him back up the stairs to ride it again. 

Perhaps it is time wasted, perhaps he could be moving forward and purifying other areas, but when his Player is enjoying themselves so much he can’t help but feel content.

* * *

Zacharie offers him the book on sign language again. He almost refuses, but the merchant actually lowered the price to only 20,000 credits. The Batter doesn’t buy it right away, though; he wants to surprise his Player, to be able to impress them with his sudden knowledge of their hand talking whatever it is.

It is also a pride thing, but Zacharie knows better than to point that out.

He isn’t willing to give the book for free though, so the Batter comes up with a different plan. When his Player turns around to pick up the fallen credits, he grabs a few and keeps them hidden away in a different pocket. It takes a lot of shoddy excuses as well to continue fighting specters. The experience one works much longer than the rest, but even he can tell that they’re suspicious about his actions; his Player doesn’t say anything, thank goodness, and before he knows it he has more than enough credits saved up. They stop for the night to rest on a bench, but the Batter leaves the Add-ons with his Player when he’s sure they’re asleep and goes back to Zacharie where he buys the book.

It is much harder than he thought it would be. He just can’t wrap his mind around actual words being replaced with motions and signs and he throws the book against a wall in frustration. Zacharie laughs from behind the counter and walks over to him, picking up the book and brushing the cover gently.

“You know, it is much harder for adults to learn a new language. Supposedly, your brain has matured and therefore has trouble keeping all that information stored.” He hands the book back and sits down in front of him. “Let’s start with the alphabet. The basics would probably be best.”

The Batter is surprised, but he nods anyway and slowly fumbles his way through every letter and by the time he gets back to where he left the Player he is exhausted and his mind is reeling with the different signs. Zacharie was relentless and constantly tested him and more often than not he would whack him on the head with the book when he messed up (“avez-vous en plastique pour les cerveaux, stop confusing ‘m’ and ‘n’, c'est ridicule), but he told him to come back in two days to continue learning. 

He smiles when he sees his Player curled up on the bench and he sits down next to them. They’ll wake up soon, but he decides to take a quick nap, just to regain some of his lost sleep. 

* * *

The silence between the two of them is awful this time. He follows his Player through the shopping mall and cringes whenever they reach up to rub their cheek. 

They had let him sleep with his head in their lap and it was comforting and they were petting his hair and it felt really nice. And then he woke up. And then he instinctively punched them because he wasn’t used to that much physical contact and now they were sporting a large bruise that would definitely be sore for a while.

He massages his temples in frustration. He knows they aren’t mad, even though they have every right to be furious, and he apologized over and over again, but that just wasn’t enough for him. They had pulled out a folded piece of paper that they used for the puzzles, and wrote “ _i forgive you_ ” just so that he _knew_ it was okay but it wasn’t okay, it isn’t okay. In all honesty, though, he has no idea what to do to make it better, and he probably wouldn’t even if they could talk. He’s just angry at his own stupidity and keeps his distance from his Player for a while; if they stay just out of arm’s reach, then he won’t have to worry about accidentally knocking the lights out of them.

* * *

He sneaks away again the next night. They had spent most of their time loitering in the mall and peeking behind crates just to make sure they left no stone unturned, but now they were back out in the open and he could actually find his way to Zacharie on his own.

The merchant laughs at him when he explains why he wants to learn how to sign an apology. The Batter waits patiently for him to stop chuckling, and god he just wants to punch Zacharie as well. 

“I am sorry, friend, but that is more amusing than you might think. But they do forgive you, yes?”

“It is not enough.”

“It never is. Very well then. All you do is make an ‘a’ with your hand and…”

* * *

This time, he waits for them to wake up. He is bone-weary and his head hurts from his lack of sleep, but he forces his eyes to stay open. Eventually, his Player stirs and sits up, stretching their arms over their head and look up at him quizzically. They point to the bench and pretend to sleep with their hands, obviously asking if he slept or not.

Instead of talking, though, he forms his right hand into a fist and rotates it clockwise over his chest, then reaches down and strokes their bruised cheek gently. He remembers what Zacharie had drilled into him repeatedly (“you have to actually _look_ sorry; the language is about gestures and facial expressions, and if you don’t express yourself then they’ll think you aren’t sincere”) and tries his best to actually look the part. 

The Player smiles, and pulls out the piece of paper again. “ _did you actually buy that book_?”

“Yes.”

“ _how much do you know_?”

“The alphabet. How to apologize.” He fidgets and fists his hands together nervously. “I am sorry about that.”

They put the paper down and slowly sign out words letter by letter so he can understand.

_a n d i f o r g i v e y o u_

He believes them this time.

* * *

Between his Player and Zacharie, he picks up the language much faster. There is no doubt that he will never learn everything, and the hesitation between signs will never go away, but he can understand them much better, and he talks to them in a mixture of signed and vocal words.

He is absolutely not jealous that Zacharie somehow learned the language in less than a day and is just as fluent as his Player (he did offer to “transfer the files” or whatever that meant, but the cost was an obscene amount of credits and the transaction was to take place in his bedroom so he actually did punch the merchant and got kicked out of his shop). It irks him, though, that he still struggles to understand what they sign to him sometimes; he confuses some battle commands and ends up wasting his remaining competence, or he’ll stand around trying to decipher what they said and let the specters land a few hits. 

Or when they’re in the mess hall and he makes them stay in the one square he knows is safe and maybe if he were more practiced he would know what they were trying to tell him from forty feet away instead of him yelling across the hall “You want me to do what? Go left?” and end up getting attacked and undoing all their progress thus far. After the twentieth time, his Player signs a few words quickly (something along the lines of “stop being such a mother hen”) and leads him across to the dorms in record time. 

* * *

The Room is unsettling to his Player, he can tell. They like it, but the dark walls and the noises and the shifting and changing rooms scares them and they cope by talking to him. They’ll stop walking and talk for ten, twenty minutes, signing so rapidly that he can’t make anything out but snippets of phrases that make no sense, and their movements become shakier when the noises get louder. He lets them talk all they want, and even if he can’t hardly understand it they begin to relax eventually, and then they move on.

Then there will be another crashing noise and his Player will stop and sign some more. 

It takes some time to get from one area to another.

* * *

When they last see each other, it is far from a happy moment. His Player is still processing everything that has happened so far, and he is just glad he fulfilled his mission. He walks up to the switch and is just about to pull it, but he feels a tug on his sleeve.

They ask him a lot of questions. “ _was this the right thing to do did we really kill your son what about those books what about Zacharie what about the Elsen what happens to this world was the Judge right_ ”

He doesn’t have any answers for them. He isn’t supposed to answer them. He isn’t supposed to tell them anything.

But he can still sign something.

Slowly, letter by letter, he spells out the words he wants to tell them.

_i a m s o r r y_

They smile knowingly and press a torn piece of paper in his hands. He turns back to the switch and as he pulls it he looks down at the paper.

“ _i forgive you_ ”


End file.
